I do not want to write these days.
My creativity feels so very stifled, dead.
I'm not sure why exactly. Perhaps I haven't the leisure time to create. But, I could if I chose. Such as when I walk dogs. I think I'll ask my heart today, commune more with it as I walk my canine friends, at least the ones that don't require so much supervision when we walk together.
Bruno and Buster are two toy poodles that aren't prissy poodles at all. They are rambunctious little boys that would make mischief wherever they go, if one allows them. The thought of them brings me a smile.
They love to eat worms, and on our walks after a rain, I have to be diligent to steer them away from their voracious appetite for the creepy crawly worms, though it seems to me that the worms would supply protein. I've read the worms can also carry bacteria not so friendly for dogs, bacteria the worms ingest from deep in the soil. But I can't imagine it'd be much worse than horse or cat manure, which dogs seem to have a palate for.
Someone recently contacted me about their experiences with my ex-therapist. My god, sometimes I think the man is just plain evil and really has no conscience. Then another side of me wants to come to his defense, feeling that maybe folks have blamed him for things he isn't totally responsible for. Yet, the facts show otherwise.
And all I have to do is recall the lies. Lies about me. Lies about others. Lie after lie after lie.
And all I have to do is recall his chameleon ways. Changing appearances, changing roles...another new venue with a new circle to influence.
I wonder how long it will take for the chameleon to again change colors.
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